So This is Love

by Elizabeth Lim

  Cinderella looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks stained with tears. Her hairbrush and comb still rested on her vanity, her neatly arranged hair a bitter reminder of how happy she’d been only hours before when she had been planning to meet the Grand Duke.

  “What do I do?” she asked her reflection. She’d grown used to talking to herself—or the mice—all these years to keep from going mad. “How can I keep faith that things will get better when they only seem to get worse?” She buried her face in her hands. “Maybe she was right. Maybe if I had run off to the palace with the slipper, the prince wouldn’t see the girl he’d danced with. All he’d see is . . . an orphan in rags.”

  She swallowed hard. “A nobody.”

  “Who’s a nobody?” It was a familiar voice, serene and kind.

  Behind her, a shimmering silhouette appeared against a backdrop of shadow. Slowly, gradually, a soft light bloomed in the middle of Cinderella’s room, and an elderly woman wearing a sky blue cloak materialized.

  Cinderella gasped. “Fairy Godmother.”

  “Please, dear, call me Lenore.”

  If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Cinderella would have laughed at her matter-of-factness. “You’re here,” she said instead.

  “I heard you call. . . .” The fairy’s round eyes widened as she gestured at the ramshackle attic. “What happened?”

  Cinderella opened her mouth to reply, but a lump formed in her throat. It hurt to speak. “My stepmother . . .” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

  “Oh, my child.” Her fairy godmother opened her arms, embracing Cinderella and gently patting her back.

  When she pulled away, Cinderella noticed a frown had set on Lenore’s face. She touched the ripped mattress and pillows, and her expression darkened when she noticed the constellation of glass shards on the ground. “Your stepmother discovered that it was you at the ball.”

  “Yes . . . she locked me here.”

  “Oh, that woman!” Lenore stomped her foot. “I have a mind to . . . hmph, I’d best not say. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  “Can you help me?” Cinderella asked urgently. “She’s going to send me away—tonight.”

  “Send you where?”

  “I don’t know.” Fear edged Cinderella’s voice, making it tremble no matter how she tried to keep her words even. “There’s a man coming to take me away from Aurelais. I-I-I think he’s going to sell me. Please . . .”

  Her godmother clenched her jaw, and when she finally spoke her words were heavy with sadness. “I’m afraid I cannot, my child. I’d love nothing more than to turn your stepmother and stepsisters into toads and take you far from this place, but that is not how my magic works. I can only set you on the path to happiness.”

  How does it work? Cinderella wanted to ask. She had so many questions for her fairy godmother—about magic, and why she’d helped Cinderella go to the ball in the first place. Questions she hadn’t thought to ask the first time her fairy godmother had appeared. But there were more pressing matters at hand now.

  “Could you . . . could you unlock the door?”

  “I can certainly try.” Rolling up her sleeves, the fairy godmother drew up her wand and pointed it at the door.

  The door shuddered, but it would not open.

  With a frown, Lenore waved her wand and tried again, but this time, the spell sent her reeling back toward Cinderella’s bed.

  Lenore lowered her hood, her dark eyes filled with regret. “As I say, there are limits to my powers,” she explained, tapping her wand on her palm. She clutched the wand tightly, looking once more at the shattered glass. “I’m sorry, dear. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come to you in the first place.”

  “Why?”

  “My magic is forbidden in Aurelais,” said her fairy godmother calmly. “Oh, I bent the rules a little by putting a time constraint on the spell I used to send you to the ball—rather clever of me—but my wand won’t allow me to risk a spell so large again.”

  “Your magic is forbidden?” repeated Cinderella, barely hearing the rest of what she’d said. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a reason my magic could only last until midnight. It was borrowed magic, because magic in Aurelais has been outlawed, and all its fairies exiled. The Grand Duke—the former, that is—he made it his mission . . . oh, it happened long ago. You must not worry.”

  “Of course I’m worried! Are you in danger by being here?”

  “I should not stay long,” was all Lenore would say. Her godmother cleared her throat. “But there is one thing I can do at least. I can speak with your dog.”

  “Bruno?”

  Confused, Cinderella glanced out the window. She couldn’t see Bruno from here, but she imagined him downstairs in one of the storerooms, curled up against a rug and dreaming of chasing Lucifer, her stepmother’s cat. By now he must be starving, she thought with a pang of guilt. Since she’d been locked up, no one would have fed him all day.

  “Yes, that’s what I’ll do—I’ll tell him you’re in trouble,” Lenore said, determined.

  Cinderella wasn’t sure how her dog would be able to help her. “How—”

  “And before I forget,” continued Lenore, fishing into her sleeve, “I believe these belong to you.”

  Out came the green beads that Cinderella had worn the previous night—before Drizella had snatched them from her—restrung.

  “I wouldn’t want you to leave without your mother’s beads,” said Lenore firmly, clasping the emerald-colored beads around Cinderella’s neck.

  “How did you—”

  “Found them on the ground after you left last night. Your mother would have wanted you to have her beads; that horrible Drizella has had them for long enough. Keep them with you to remember where you come from.”

  “I will,” said Cinderella softly. Carefully, she unclasped the necklace and put it in her pocket. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I wish I could have done more.” The fairy placed a gentle hand on Cinderella’s shoulder. “Be brave, my dear. The path to happiness is not always an easy one. Now I must go.”

  Then she vanished in a twinkle of lights—leaving Cinderella alone once more.

  She blinked, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. “I can get through this,” she whispered.

  I won’t be afraid, she told herself. I’ll find a way out, somehow.

  Then, trying to steady her racing heart, she waited for her stepmother to return.

  The sound of footsteps returned late at night, far later than Cinderella anticipated. She’d fallen asleep on her mattress, but the harsh thumps up the tower stairs jolted her awake.

  By the time she lit her candle, her stepmother stood at the door, looking calm and composed.

  “I see you’re awake. Good. You have a visitor.” Lady Tremaine turned. “Mr. Laverre!”

  A thick-necked brute of a man with a cruel leer appeared at the threshold, and Cinderella gasped.

  A bundle of rope dangled from Mr. Laverre’s hands, and his mouth bent into a pitiless smile. “This the girl?” he rasped.

  “Yes. Will she do?”

  Mr. Laverre looked her up and down. “She’ll fetch a fair price. More than fair.”

  Setting his lamp on the ground, Mr. Laverre reached into his pocket and handed Lady Tremaine a heavy pouch of coins.

  “No, please,” Cinderella pleaded with her stepmother. “Don’t do this!”

  But Lady Tremaine ignored her and pocketed the coins. “I trust you’ll take her far away.”

  “Oh, I’ve a place in mind. It’s so far Aurelais isn’t even on their maps.”

  A small smile touched Lady Tremaine’s mouth. “She’s a wicked child. Find her a household that works her to the bone. Better yet, have her thrown into the mines. She deserves nothing better.” With a satisfied nod, she departed the room, leaving Cinderella alone with Mr. Laverre.

  Cinderella cowered in a corner, her hands scrabbling behind her for something, any
thing to fend off Mr. Laverre. Her fingers closed over her hairbrush, and she swung it wildly as he advanced toward her.

  Mr. Laverre batted her brush aside, grabbing her arms. Cinderella struggled, lunging for the pile of glass debris on the floor, but she’d barely managed to grab one shard when he threw the rope around her, securing her arms to her sides and her wrists together.

  “Let me go!” Cinderella screamed. “Let me—”

  Mr. Laverre clamped her mouth with his hand. “Don’t worry, it won’t be forever. A girl like you will pay off her debts, eventually.”

  Terror seized Cinderella, and her muscles tensed with fear.

  “What’s that you’ve got in your hand?” Mr. Laverre tried to pry her hand open. “A chip of glass isn’t going to stop me, lass.”

  Before he could take it from her, Cinderella threw her elbow into Mr. Laverre’s ribs. He staggered back, stepping into the glass slipper’s remains, and let out a cry. She started to flee, spiraling down and down the stairs. But the ropes around her arms unsteadied her balance, and she didn’t get very far before Mr. Laverre caught up, seized her by the waist, and hoisted her over his shoulder.

  “A good effort, lass.” He pitched a pillowcase over her head. “But not good enough.”

  Cinderella struggled, trying to use the glass in her hand as a weapon, but it was no use. The bindings restricted her movement, and her feet hit the walls instead of her captor when she tried kicking. Each thump of Mr. Laverre’s boots down the tower steps, then through the corridor and down into the main hall, thundered in her ears.

  When the front doors swung open and the crisp chill of the wind bit at her cheeks through the pillowcase, she heard Bruno barking.

  “Bruno!”

  The bloodhound was already on his way. Scrambling toward Cinderella, he leapt to attack Mr. Laverre. But the man grabbed his driving whip from his carriage and swung it at Bruno, flinging him into a puddle. As Bruno whimpered, Mr. Laverre threw Cinderella into the carriage.

  “Hiyah!” he shouted. His whip cracked against the backs of his horses, and as the wheels rattled to life, Cinderella rolled violently from side to side.

  The shard of glass tumbled out of her hand, and she floundered to get it back. Her fingers grazed its edge, and she bit back the pain as it nicked her palm.

  It was sharp. Maybe sharp enough to cut her free. With renewed determination, she gripped its blunt side and started picking at the ropes.

  Not an easy task. Every time the carriage hit a bump, Cinderella nearly dropped the shard. Finally, when the thick twines loosened and she freed her hands, she threw the pillowcase off her head.

  There was nothing around her except the carriage cushions, most of them ripped as if someone before Cinderella had tried clawing her way free. The doors were bolted shut from the outside, but the window . . .

  In his haste to get away from Bruno, Mr. Laverre hadn’t properly closed it. The strong winds had pummeled it open, the wooden board creaking as it swung back and forth.

  Rain washed into the carriage. The storm had swelled in strength, the pitter-patter now a constant drumming against the carriage roof. Mr. Laverre’s horses slowed, fighting the powerful winds, and prepared to make a sharp turn.

  This is my chance, thought Cinderella, bolting toward the window.

  The carriage started again, picking up speed and throwing her back. The world rumbled beneath her, every turn of the wheels throwing her from side to side in the carriage, making it hard for her to catch her balance. She gripped the underside of the seat to steady herself.

  Fear made her hands shake, her knuckles bone white. Gathering her courage, she inched her way to the edge of the carriage and clutched at the open window. Rain battered her temples, and a violent gust of wind lashed at her, threatening to throw her back into the carriage.

  On the count of three.

  One.

  Two.

  Three. She meant to jump, but the horses stumbled over a broken crate on the road, and the carriage suddenly swerved right. One of the doors swung open, taking Cinderella with it and tossing her out onto the road.

  She forgot not to scream. Thankfully, the rain muffled her cry as she slammed into the ground. She landed on her side, her legs scraping against the rough gravel. The carriage wheels splattered mud over her clothes, and she felt a shock of cold.

  Ignoring the pain springing in her ribs, Cinderella pulled herself up and off the street, narrowly avoiding getting trampled by another coach that came barreling past. She crawled into a corner and held her breath until Mr. Laverre’s carriage rounded the corner, its wheels lumbering against the pebbled roads.

  Cinderella waited there, knees shaking, teeth chattering, the whole time fearing that Mr. Laverre would discover she had escaped. But when several minutes had passed and his carriage did not return, she finally stirred.

  One muscle at a time, she picked herself up. Everything hurt. Her ribs, her back, her hands. Cuts and scrapes nicked her knees, and her fingers were bleeding. But she was free.

  Suddenly, she heard a familiar whimper, and a wet, furry creature brushed against her calves.

  “Bruno!”

  Cinderella had never been so glad to see him. “You followed me all the way from home! You brave, brave dog.”

  She hugged him, taking comfort in his familiar face. Together they rose and wandered the neighborhood in hopes of finding a kind soul who might take pity on them. But the streets were empty, and no wonder—no sane person would be out during a rainstorm like this. The rain had snuffed the lamps, and darkness wreathed every inch of the road ahead.

  Each house was gated, every shop locked. There was no hope of finding help at this hour, not in this weather. The rain was relentless; they’d have to wait until the storm passed, or until dawn . . . whichever came first.

  They found shelter under the awning of a closed storefront. Cinderella tried knocking several times, but no one came to the door. Through the glass was a marvelous display of layered cakes decorated with pink rosettes and candied fruits, chocolate-laced cookies, and buttery pastries dotted with jam.

  “Come on, Bruno,” she said, wincing as her stomach growled with hunger. She leaned against the store’s brick wall and gathered her dog under the awning. “Let’s sleep here tonight.”

  She hugged him close, listening to his pulse thump steadily against her racing heart. Gradually her temples stopped throbbing, and the pain in her side dulled.

  “Oh, Bruno, I’m sorry.”

  Her dog looked at her as if he didn’t understand why she was apologizing to him.

  “You could be home with a hot meal and a warm bed right now.” She stroked his ear playfully. “You could be drinking a nice warm bowl of milk, or chasing Lucifer out of the kitchen.” She drew him close, burying her face in his warm fur. “But I’m glad you’re here, loyal as always. Thank you, Bruno.”

  Her terror subsided, but fear lingered. New fears. Practical ones, brought on by the unyielding rumble in her stomach, the rain sinking into her skin, and the chill moving into her bones that her threadbare shirt could not prevent.

  What would tomorrow bring? Cinderella wondered as she shivered. She had no money, no family, no place to go. Without her glass slipper, she was sure the palace guards would turn her away at the front gates. In her rags, with the bruise on her head and scratches on her arms, who would believe that she had danced with the prince at the ball? That she was the maiden the whole kingdom was looking for?

  One thing was for certain: if she didn’t find food and shelter, she and Bruno wouldn’t last long on their own.

  It was what she’d always feared. Any time she’d secretly fantasized about leaving her stepmother’s house, this was the reality that had chased the dream away.

  “The world is a cruel, cruel place, Cinderella,” her stepmother used to tell her when she was a child. “You should be grateful to me for giving you a roof over your head. How do you think you’d fare out in the world? You, without any worldly ex
perience—an orphan, unwanted and alone?”

  Those words haunted her. They were awful, but true; she was alone, and she had no experience being out in the world. How would she make a life for herself?

  It’s better than being stuck with Mr. Laverre, she reminded herself. Anything is better than that.

  She glanced up, taking in the moon, still luminous even as the storm unfolded. Shielding her eyes from the rain, she craned her head north. There, at the edge of the city, sat the king’s palace.

  Her father had once told her that one could see the king’s palace from any point in the city. Her view now was different from the one she’d had at home, but the palace was no less resplendent. How many hours had she spent staring at it, dreaming about how grand it would be to go inside, how wonderful it would be to dance within its marble halls?

  Well, now she had.

  She felt no regret about how eagerly she’d wanted to go to the ball. What she regretted was how naive she’d been, and that flicker of longing that had sprung up inside her when she realized the Grand Duke’s quest was to find her. For an instant, she’d fooled herself into thinking reuniting with the prince was the ticket to happiness and a better life for herself.

  But no longer.

  So where did she go from here?

  Despair gnawed at her. She could try to call for her fairy godmother again, but . . . Lenore had said her magic was forbidden. Cinderella wouldn’t put her fairy godmother in danger.

  I’ll figure this out on my own, Cinderella thought grimly. I cannot always depend on someone to save me.

  “Tomorrow,” she whispered aloud, stroking Bruno’s head. “Beginning tomorrow, I’m never going to feel this helpless again. Once the storm ends, we make a new life. You and me.”

  With that promise heavy in her heart, she hugged Bruno close, shifting them both deeper under the awning and away from the cold, relentless rain.

  It was a long time before she finally fell asleep.